Ho to a housewife

Think about how much you've changed since you went from a ho became a housewife.

Thursdays

Hot, Single Days: Happy hour! Pitchers of beer, karaoke, flirting with strangers.

Housewife Days: Ooh, the Office is on! I might be able to knit an entire scarf tonight.

Going Out Attire

Karaoke on St Pattys Day, circa 2004.
That's right, it's light outside.

Hot, Single Days: Tight dresses, heels, some sort of cleavage or midriff bearing ensemble.

Housewife Days: Flip flops (so my feet don't get sore), my "good" jeans (the comfortable ones that come up high enough to cover my muffin top), and a flowy top with a sweater over it. (It might get cold, you never know.)

Alcohol

Hot, Single Days: Whatever I can get my hands on. The cheaper the better. Popov out of a half gallon.

Housewife Days: Orange dream martinis, but not too many--I might fall asleep during The Walking Dead.

Bar Nights 
Hot, Single Days: Dancing on tables, body shots, throwing up in bathrooms. 
Housewife Days: Dancing in your chair, watching girls do body shots, then holding their hair back while they cry and throw up in the bathroom stall.

Now, don't get me wrong--I still enjoy a good bender now and again. I just have to make sure I get enough sleep the night before and drink three RedBulls first so I don't pass out in the middle of beer pong.

I'm old enough to be your mother.

Yesterday I was walking to the grocery store when the driver of a large truck honked his horn and scared the shit out of me.

I stopped in my tracks, excited to see a car accident, when he leaned out the window and gave me a creepy grin and a thumbs up.

There was no car accident. He was honking at ME.

Me? Really? I looked down and assessed my outfit (sweat pants are all that fits me right now!) and took inventory of my face: I haven't donned makeup or done my hair in weeks. (It's scrunch season, remember?)

A few years ago, I would have smiled back and waved like a prom queen, basking in the validation of my single hotness.

Instead I stared back in gaping confusion, wondering if he was playing a mean joke on me, and thinking that I'm probably old enough to be his mother.

When did it become an oddity that people would check me out? I'm not single anymore, but I'm only 27. And that's not THAT old...is it? I guess I could stand to trade in the bermuda shorts for a cute skirt now and again, so I don't embarrass the cats when I take them to the vet.